Reminiscing
June 29, 2006,
It is a beautiful summer evening, reminiscent of many others: summer evenings in my childhood spent playing on green summer lawns, the breeze flowered with the sweet smell of honeysuckle; summer evenings in my teen years spent perched on the top rail of the fence gazing dreamily at the serene West Texas sunset; and summer evenings in the field sitting on the tailgate of a pickup listening to the drone of an irrigation motor, the lapping of water in the ditch, and the laughter of small boys as they tossed dirt clods into the water. I remember with fondness the summer sunset glistening off the tints of red in their hair and the freckles on Justin’s face sparkling with sweat. There were other summer evenings spent on the porch of our new house with milk, Oreo cookies, and a good book, a cool evening breeze blowing wisps of Jennifer’s hair into my face while all my children listened contentedly to a story.
Tonight, I enjoy the sunset alone. My teenagers are scattered about the house, each doing their own thing. I am thankful they are here, for I know the day will soon come when no one is home. But tonight, I will breathe deep of a peaceful evening, a joyful, contented close of a calm, serene summer day. Life has become a true holiday, a summer day.
A Summer Season of Rest
This was my journal entry for June 29, 2006—most of the entries that summer read something like this one, full of nostalgia and praise. Life had not always been so peaceful. Two years earlier, I had stood at the window on a dreary spring night in March and watched the rain pour off the house and flow in a dozen rivers off the back patio and into the dark night. In the next room, hospice nurses washed the body of my seventeen-year-old son as we waited for the funeral director to transport him to the mortuary. I would bury him beside his father. Grief felt heavy, like a weight on my chest that would not allow me to breathe, and at the same time, I felt empty…empty of emotion, empty of energy, and empty of spirit. But now, the weight of grief had lifted, and I could not remember a time since childhood when I had felt so rested and contented.
After Justin’s death, I was able to sleep through the night uninterrupted for the first time in over seventeen years. Social security income and my husband’s life insurance let me stay home and homeschool my other children. It was a season of mental and physical rest. And it was a season of worship. For the first time in their memory, my children and I were able to get involved in a church. We enjoyed Bible studies and spontaneous ‘dance in the kitchen’ worship times together. We roasted wieners and gathered on the back porch for daily picnics. We spent summer nights on the trampoline stargazing and woke to the cool, damp breeze of predawn to creep back into the house for the comfort of our beds.
Because of Justin’s handicaps, we had never traveled. Now, we could ‘see the world’ or at least explore nature’s wonders within driving distance. Our budget was tight, but we kept a family travel fund, looked for deals online, found coupons and discounts, and spent much time planning family trips. We went to the mountains to camp in summer and ski in winter; we saw the ocean for the first time, played at the lake, hiked in the canyon, and traveled to big cities and remote campsites. We played together and worked together gardening, caring for animals, and tending to our country home. It was a season for delighting in my children and enjoying each other.
Glimpsing God's Glory and Grace
Like Moses, who had to wait for God to pass before he could get a glimpse of Him, most of the time, it is only in retrospect that I can glimpse God’s presence interwoven throughout the joy and heartache of each passing season. But this season was different. I felt cradled in God’s hand, shielded and protected for a season from the storm-tossed waves of life. It was the end of a long season of grief but also a season of rest for my weary soul. It was a season of grace.
Like a lingering Indian summer, it tarried longer than I anticipated, but just as that beautiful summer day ended, that beautiful Sabbath summer season would also eventually end. The work of raising teenagers alone and helping them deal with the tragedies that had impacted our lives still lay ahead. Social security income would end, and the struggles of balancing work and managing our small farm would be a reality. Still, that season of rest, worship, and building solid relationships would help prepare me for the work ahead, and I would be forever grateful for a Sabbath season.
I hope this year finds you in a long, lovely, season of summer and sabbath rest. If it has, smile and hug those you love, listen to the sound of laughter and giggle like a child, and in everyday moments pause often to delight in the pleasures of the season.
If this has been a difficult year for you, be encouraged, while life may have changed and will never be quite the same, grief does pass, seasons change, and summer does come again.
This was beautiful … Thankyou Sheila. I watched your sweet grand baby this last year at mom’s day out … you awesome job raising your kids! Now you can enjoy their kids ! I just loved this post …
Thank you for your sweet comments! I didn’t know you were keeping the babies at MDO! He’s a sweet little guy and I just LOVE his sweet mama too!
What a restful, peaceful post that was, Sheila! It brought my mind back to peaceful days of past summers, too. I’m praying for such a respite this summer. I pray you are able to rest and find peace as well. Miss you, my friend!
I hope this is a season of peaceful respite for you with days filled with rest and beauty! Have a blessed summer!!